


Changes

by parsleylion



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: Highschool AU gone rogue, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 16:28:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12303063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parsleylion/pseuds/parsleylion
Summary: he's not your type, you really should have known that...





	Changes

**1\. The End.**

  
  


Brad looks out ahead of him. Freedom. Empty space. No walls or chains or gates with heavy, rusting padlocks keeping them shut tight. He closes his eyes, takes it in; that first, deep breath of fresh air.

  
  


Five years is a long time. A long time to be inside. A long time to think things over. A long time to be longing for your freedom. Brad opens his eyes, crosses the street and tries to ignore the way his legs shake with every step he takes. He can see Mike waiting on the corner, biting his lip and slowly getting to his feet.

  
  


This is the start. The end. The beginning of it all. He's happy but he can't erase those words and the voice that spoke them and the smile the lips were twisted into when they breezed out into the air all those years ago...

  
  


" _He's not your type. You really should have known that_."

  
  


+

  
  
  


**2\. The Start.**

  
  


Brad buttons up his blazer. He hates it. Itchy material; sleeves that are never long enough on his arms; vile blue and green plaid pattern dancing back into his eyes. He blinks and looks away from the mirror as he grabs his tie. He feels sick. Fucking hangover. Fucking Mike. Fucking getting drunk and not getting any sleep.

  
  


"Bradford? Bradford it's nearly eight."

  
  


Brad groans, flicks up his shirt collar and fixes his tie. He leans forward, brushes a hand across his forehead to remove that stray smudge of lipstick. Fucking Rob with his fucking lipstick. He scrutinizes his reflection, half heartedly tucking his shirt into the waistband of his slacks. He's getting too old for this. He's getting too tired. He actually  _misses_ studying with Chester every night, waking up at seven and eating his porridge. Now he's lucky if he's back home by seven.

  
  


"Bradford? Get a fucking move on it, will you?"

  
  


Brad glares into the mirror one last time, scoops his books off his desk and hoists his bag over his shoulder. He's almost out of his bedroom door when he spots something glaring back at him from his calendar.

  
  


Shit. An exam? An extra class? Was he supposed to go to a tutorial on the way to school? He crosses the room, muttering obscenities as his backpack slips down from his shoulder.

  
  


Fuck.

  
  


"Chester's birthday."

  
  
  


+

  
  


Brad's ten minutes late for first class. This happens every single day and the teacher doesn't bat an eyelid.

  
  


"Take a seat Brad. Page eighteen. Activity six."

  
  


Brad climbs over bags and peoples feet and chair legs, reaches the desk at the back, the one next to Chester's. Chester glances up from his book, shoots Brad a smile as he sits down noisily, books scattering over his desk.

  
  


Brad can't find activity six. He fumbles through his textbook, eyes frantically scanning the page. He leans across to Chester who's desk is clear, save for the textbook, a single sheet of paper and his pencil sharpener. The teacher clears his throat, shoots Brad a glare. He sighs and leans back in his seat. His head is throbbing and he can't remember last night.

  
  


It used to be fun. Exciting. New. Now it's just old. When he first met Mike he was stacking boxes of fruit at the supermarket one Saturday. Chester was on the till because Chester is quiet and polite and well spoken. And Brad was picking lemons off the floor, cursing and muttering under his breath at the  _fucking idiots_  who had just driven their shopping cart into the display.

  
  


That's where they met. Aisle four. Just beside the lemons and oranges; across from the tins of soup and packets of noodles. The ones with the nasty sachets of sauce that taste the same, no matter what flavour you pick.

  
  


It was fun. Fun and different. Because Mike, he was eighteen and he had a car. He had money from a part time job and he had fake id.

  
  


"Okay class, the bell's about to go. I want you to finish this as homework. Books on my desk first thing."

  
  


Brad glances up. It's not right. Not like his old school. Everyone's still working, quietly, calmly. Brad closes his books, shoves them back into his bag and counts down the minutes on the clock. At his old school they would have been jostling out of the classroom by now, sneakers squeaking on dirty tiled floors; elbows covered in worn sweatshirts barging into people's rubs. Here they wait. They walk in an orderly fashion. They smile when appropriate. Put their hands up to talk.  _Ask_  to go to the fucking bathroom.

  
  


"It's for the best," Brad's mom told him little over a year ago, "Beside, Chester goes there and he's your best friend. I want the best education you can possibly get."

  
  


Brad stares at the clock. He thinks it's stopped. He remembers his mom's words like they were spoken yesterday. It wasn't really that she was willing to  _pay_  for his education because she thought it'd be better. It was more that she was tired from washing blood from his school shirts once the rest of his class found out he was gay.

  
  


The bell goes and Brad's out of the door before it's finished ringing.

  
  
  


+

  
  
  


"Where'd you disappear to?" Chester asks.

  
  


Brad slips onto the bench next to him and places his bag down. He unzips it and pulls out a box. He  _knows_  that Chester knows he forgot. You're not best friends with someone since birth without knowing these things. But Chester doesn't say anything, just smiles and takes the present.

  
  


"For me?"

  
  


Brad smiles.

  
  


"Did you lose your voice?"

  
  


"Hangover."

  
  


Chester shrugs, "You saw Mike again?"

  
  


"And Rob."

  
  


"Rob," Chester nods, "He's the one who wears skirts and fairy wings, right?"

  
  


"Yeah," Brad breezes out, hating the way he sounds so dreamy when he thinks of Rob. Rob, he makes Brad's heart flutter; his stomach do somersaults. By the time Brad's brought himself back down to Earth, Chester has unwrapped the box.

  
  


"Wow," Chester grins, flipping the box upside down and emptying the watch out. He rests it in the palm of his hand, fingers carefully brushing over the surface, "This is great," He smiles again, turns to Brad, "Thank you."

  
  


Brad shrugs, "It's nothing. You're welcome."

  
  


"I'll wear it tonight," Chester grins.

  
  


Brad frowns.

  
  


"You know," Chester's smile is so obviously fake, because he knows Brad has forgotten, "My party?"

  
  


"Oh yeah," Brad nods, "I remember... Listen..."

  
  


"You promised."

  
  


"I know but."

  
  


"But?"

  
  


"It's just that, well, Rob asked me over to his place tonight and Mike's going to be there and we were going to..."

  
  


Chester stares back, eyes shimmering as he nods. Brad looks away. He hates the wounded puppy dog look. He hates that Chester's not even doing it deliberately. He hates that Chester's such a fucking good friend and that he walks all over him day in, day out. But Rob and Mike… They're just so much more fun.

  
  


"It's fine," Chester shrugs, "What will I tell my mom?"

  
  


"Sorry?"

  
  


"When she asks where you are? It's just," Chester pauses, placing the watch back into its box, "I'm running out of reasons for why you don't come over anymore."

  
  


Brad clamps his mouth shut. Chester gets up and slings his bag onto his shoulder. He walks away and when Brad finally loses sight of his back as he disappears into a crowd of people by the canteen door, he notices the box is sitting beside him on the bench.

  
  


+

  
  


"You going to Chester's party?"

  
  


"Yeah," Brad nods, running a hand through his unruly hair. He wishes it were shorter, tidier, more like Rob's.

  
  


"What time will you be back?"

  
  


Brad shrugs as he pulls a shirt over his head. It's the one he was wearing the first time Mike introduced him to Rob. It's red and has little holes in it here and there, but Rob likes it, he told him so. Brad smoothes a crease from it and douses himself in body spray.

  
  


"Well make sure it's no later than midnight. It's a school night."

  
  


"Sure mom," Brad nods, shoving his wallet into the pocket of his jeans.

  
  


It's a lie. It's always a lie these days. He leaves his bedroom window slightly open. That way he can slip in unnoticed at whatever time he  _feels_  like coming home. He kisses his mom goodbye and makes his way out of the door.

  
  


Chester's party is being held at his Aunt's house. Just like it is every year. The same people will be there, telling the same jokes and making the same friendly conversation. Chester's parents, Chester's brothers and sisters, Chester's cousins, Chester's grandparents. Brad scuffs his feet on the ground. He can hardly wait.

  
  


When he arrives, Chester's sitting on the front lawn. He looks like he's been crying but Brad doesn't question it. He creeps up behind him and slips an arm around his shoulder, rests his chin on top of his head. Chester jumps at first, but when Brad slides the box into his hand, he relaxes.

  
  


"I'm an asshole."

  
  


"It's okay. You came."

  
  


"You left this."

  
  


"So you're not stopping?"

  
  


"I can stay till nine."

  
  


"What happens then?"

  
  


Brad sighs, "I said I'd be at Rob's for half past."

  
  


"Oh."

  
  


"I'm sorry."

  
  


"It's okay."

  
  


Brad sighs again. A huge part of him wishes that Chester would get angry. Throw something at him. Scream. Call him a  _fucking cunt_ , for Christ's sake. But Chester doesn't do angry. He's so calm. So neat and tidy. So polite and considerate. Some days Brad just wishes Chester would grow a backbone, a pair of balls, but Chester, he's just not like that.

  
  


"So, are we going to go hide under the table and eat all the food or what?" Brad sighs, nudging Chester.

  
  


Chester takes a deep breath and nods.

  
  


+

  
  


There's always a table full of food. Usually too much food, which Mrs. Bennington will place in Tupperware containers and take down to the local homeless shelter the following day. She'll bike down there, lay out the spread on a table and she'll smile and pass out food, because she's just like her son. One of those few, genuinely nice people. One of those people Brad wishes he could  _be_. But he can't. He can't do it and some days he doesn't give a fuck that he's not a nice person. Because, that, well that doesn't make him nice so what does it matter anyway?

  
  


He thinks about this as he crawls beneath the table, with it's blue and yellow chequered cloth hanging over the edges. This started when they were four years old. And even though Chester's turning sixteen today, they don't care, it's their tradition. Theirs.

  
  


Chester rests a plate on the floor between them. Brad places down the bottle of champagne.

  
  


"I think this table is shrinking," He tells Chester, taking a swig of the fizzy drink.

  
  


"Idiot. It's us that's getting bigger."

  
  


Brad laughs and passes the bottle to Chester.

  
  


"I'm okay."

  
  


"Oh come  _on_ , it's your birthday dude. Live a little."

  
  


"I don't like the taste."

  
  


"Fuck the taste! It's the feeling, that's the best."

  
  


"Champagne? It's hardly contains any alcohol does it?"

  
  


"Well," Brad lowers his voice, "I could always sneak into your dad's liquor cabinet?"

  
  


"That won't be necessary," Chester sighs, pausing before he takes the bottle, "So, is this what you do with Rob and Mike?" He asks, wincing as he takes a swig.

  
  


"What? Hide under tables drinking expensive champagne?"

  
  


Chester rolls his eyes, takes another swig.

  
  


"Not quite."

  
  


"What  _do_  you do then? You never tell me."

  
  


"I didn't think you'd be interested," Brad shrugs.

  
  


"I am."

  
  


"Okay.. We make out.. drink, listen to music, smoke."

  
  


"Smoke? What?"

  
  


Brad shrugs, "Crack..."

  
  


"Crack? Brad! Do you know what that stuff does to you?" He asks, eyes wide.

  
  


"It feels good."

  
  


"What about making out with them? How does that feel?" Chester asks, some of the champagne dripping down his chin as he lowers the bottle from his lips.

  
  


Brad smirks and leans forward, pressing his lips against Chester's. Chester jerks away and the bottle slips from his grasp.

  
  


"Brad!"

  
  


"Well! You asked!"

  
  


Chester rolls his eyes, "My parents are in here," He hisses, raising the bottle to his mouth again.

  
  


"Are you saying if they weren't that you'd kiss me back?"

  
  


Chester shakes his head, "This has all gone."

  
  


"I'll get some more."

  
  


"Brad?"

  
  


"Yeah."

  
  


"Do I bore you?"

  
  


Brad smiles, "You're a lightweight."

  
  


"A what?"

  
  


"And no, no you don't."

  
  


"Can I come with you? Meet your friends?"

  
  


+

  
  


Brad thinks that he should have said no. But it's too late for that now. They drank two more bottles of champagne and snuck out of the party just after nine. Chester is laughing his head off as Brad climbs the steps that lead up to Rob's apartment. Well, it's more like a bed sit where Mike sometimes crashes when it's too cold for him to sleep in his car.

  
  


"Chester," Brad calls, "Up here."

  
  


Chester stumbles on the steps so Brad goes down to pick him up. When he turns back with his arms around Chester's waist, Rob is standing in the doorway, towel wrapped around his hips. The droplets of water dancing down his chest tell Brad he just came out the shower.

  
  


"Hey you," Rob grins, "Who's the cutie?"

  
  


Brad narrows his eyes, "I'm the cutie. This is Chester."

  
  


Chester straightens up and nods and Rob, "Hi."

  
  


"Hi."

  
  


"It's his birthday. He wants to get trashed."

  
  


"Oh really?" Rob smirks, "You came to the right place," He nods, standing aside, "Come on in."

  
  


Mike is lying in the middle of the floor, an auburn haired guy stretched out next to him. Neither of them are wearing many clothes and Brad and Chester climb over them, falling onto one of the couches that takes up the entire wall.

  
  


"Mike?" Rob calls out as he disappears into the kitchen, "Mike what did we do when we turned sixteen?"

  
  


Mike opens his eyes and gazes around the room. He looks lost for a moment but then he clocks Brad and a huge grin spreads across his face.

  
  


"We got laid."

  
  


"Yeah but these days," Rob comes back into the room with a bottle of vodka and two glasses, "These days everyone's done that already. That right Chester?"

  
  


Chester blushes.

  
  


"Oh wait," Rob smirks, glancing at Brad as he sits down beside him, "Is he a virgin?"

  
  


Brad nods and grins. Rob raises his eyebrows and pours the vodka into the two glasses. He passes the fuller one to Chester and winks.

  
  


"I think I have the perfect birthday present for you."

  
  


+

  
  


It's not supposed to be like this. Even Brad knows that, four glasses of vodka and a spliff later. He knows Rob's spiked Chester's drink. He knows that normally, Chester wouldn't be making out with anyone like Mike. And Brad, he feels torn and hurt as Rob makes out with the guy with no name, with the auburn hair and the annoying laugh.

  
  


It's past midnight. Brad thinks he should go home. This isn't fun anymore. Not watching Rob with some other guy. And Brad, he's not too drunk to realise that Rob's not the guy he thought he was. Because right now, as he stares into a pile of his own acidic vomit and lies in the middle of the room hoping it will stop spinning, he just thinks Rob’s an asshole.

  
  


Then there's hands on him, clawing at his body. Brad blinks and swats them away. Then Chester's face comes into view and he giggles like a little boy and blows a kiss to Brad's lips.

  
  


"This is the best birthday ever. Brad, why didn't you let me come here before?"

  
  


There's a thousand stupid, dumb, pathetic drunken reasons. Because he wanted this for himself. Because he wanted an escape from their routine. Because he wanted to be different. Because he liked the taste of danger and cheap cigarettes.

  
  


Brad doesn't answer though. He just pushes Chester gently away and staggers to his feet. He ends up in Rob's room and Chester follows behind, tiptoes over to the bed and jumps down on it. Brad sighs, sits at the end and rubs his temples with his fingertips.

  
  


"Are you upset because Rob is with that.. What's his name?"

  
  


Brad shakes his head.

  
  


"You are," Chester purrs, brushing his hand down Brad's back.

  
  


"I like him. I thought he liked me."

  
  


"You kissed me earlier."

  
  


"That was different, that was a joke."

  
  


Chester shrugs, "What do you want me to say?"

  
  


Brad glances up. Chester's not wearing his glasses. He didn't notice that earlier. His eyes look wider, brighter. His hair's not so neat, slightly sticking out at angles. He tilts his head.

  
  


"I don't know," Brad answers, "Something. You usually have the right words. You're the sensible one, remember?"

  
  


"Okay," Chester hiccups, "How about," He pauses thoughtfully, "He's not your type. You really should have known that..." He hiccups again, "I think I quoted that from a book we read last semester for English Lit."

  
  


Brad laughs and flops down on the bed. He pulls Chester down on top of him and bites down on his lip.

  
  


"Are you my type?"

  
  


"You're drunk," Chester murmurs, "And I think I'm tripping."

  
  


"Okay! It's time to draw straws!"

  
  


Chester jerks away and Brad sits up as Rob dances into the room. He's dressed now. Cut off trousers and a faded pair of socks. He flicks the light on and the guy with the auburn hair stumbles in behind him, closely followed by Mike and the strong scent of weed.

  
  


"Straws?" Brad frowns.

  
  


"Yes! This is what we did when we turned sixteen," Rob smirks, "Isn't it Mike?"

  
  


It's a lie. But Brad's life, it's full of lies these days.

  
  


Rob has a handful of drinking straws and a smile on his face. He stands proudly in the centre of the room and holds them out in his fist, "Whoever picks the shortest gets to deflower Chester here."

  
  


"Wait a minute," Brad starts.

  
  


"Hush," Rob smiles, "I already talked about it with Chester, didn't I Hun?"

  
  


Brad cringes. Rob called  _him_  Hun when they first met. And Chester, he just nods and shrugs like all the intoxication has made it no big deal.

  
  


Brad pulls first, holds his straw between sweating palms as he watches Mike, then the stranger, and finally Rob, hold their straws up toward the light. Brad thinks it's a fix because Rob has the shortest straw but Chester doesn't seem to care, because he's kissing Rob already.

  
  


"Come on," Mike shrugs, like this whole game happens everyday anyway, "Let's leave them to it."

  
  


Brad's heart pangs as he turns and follows them out the room. He doesn't feel drunk anymore. Just used and tired. He follows Mike to the lounge, crashes down on the couch with his arms folded in front of him.

  
  


"Hey," Mike sits down beside him, "What's wrong?"

  
  


"Nothing."

  
  


"What did I say to you when I first introduced you to Rob?"

  
  


Brad shrugs. He knows but he doesn't care to say it.

  
  


"I said," Mike starts, sliding his arm around Brad's waist, "I said 'don't fall for Rob', remember? Because Rob, he's not like other people. Rob's not just there for one person and one person alone. Himself..."

  
  


"Who's the guy with the ginger hair?"

  
  


Mike smiles, "Phoenix. Rob's friend."

  
  


"I figured he was a  _friend_."

  
  


"If I kiss you will you stop sulking?"

  
  


Brad sighs, "I want to go home."

  
  


"Don't you think you should wait for Chester?"

  
  


"I guess."

  
  


"I'm hard."

  
  


Brad thinks that a few months ago, before he met the likes of Mike, that had any guy said that to him, he would have blushed and made some bumbling excuse to get away. Not anymore. Coming here, it makes him feel like an adult. Not like a child, when he's at home or school and they think he needs telling every five minutes what to do. Here it's different. It's like a whole new world, and he, he can do what the  _fuck_  he likes.

  
  


He leans forward and pushes his lips against Mike's, climbs on top of him and grinds their hips together. Mike's eyes burn up at him, fingertips start to peel under Brad's shirt. Brad can feel himself getting hard, feel Mike's tongue sliding against his.

  
  


And then the scream echoes around them and it all comes crashing down.

  
  


"What the..."

  
  


Brad doesn't hear Mike's voice. He's already racing out of the room, barging into Rob's bedroom and thinking, if Rob's hurt Chester then he'll kill him, he'll fucking kill him.

  
  


"Make him stop!"

  
  


Chester is lying on the bed. There's blood and Rob's still thrusting. In and out. In and out; head tipped back. Beads of sweat are dripping from his forehead; hands pinning Chester down to the mattress. Brad stops because he thinks that this is what it was like when he lost his virginity to Rob as well.

  
  


"Please..."

  
  


"Get off him. Can't you hear him?" Brad shouts, suddenly finding movement in his legs again as he marches over to the bed, "Rob!"

  
  


Rob doesn't stop though, like he's in some sort of trance. That is until Brad grabs him roughly by the shoulders and shakes him and screams and swears in his face.

  
  


"Get the fuck  _off_  him, you fucking pervert."

  
  


"What's going on..."

  
  


"Chester wants him to stop.."

  
  


Rob just laughs, "Get him outta here Mike?"

  
  


"Rob," Mike reasons, "I think you should stop."

  
  


"Fuck," Rob utters, moving again, slamming inside Chester, "No way. He's too tight to stop... Fuck..."

  
  


Brad's not sure what makes him pick up the empty beer bottle. It's just there. And it's just that it's his fault that Chester is screaming and crying and struggling beneath Rob's grasps. And it's not fair. Chester's not like them. Chester's kind and innocent and sweet. and Chester, he wouldn't hurt anyone. He just wants Rob to stop. He wants Rob to stop and he wants to go back home.

  
  


"Please... Make him stop..."

  
  


"Rob, man," Mike giggles, "Seriously dude. Just quit it."

  
  


"Fuck, shut up will you? I'm nearly there, I'm nearly fucking there. Oh God, Oh God, just..."

  
  


Brad's hand tightens around the neck of the bottle. His feet stamp against the bare floorboards. Something hurtful hurls itself from his mouth, but the words lose their meaning. He closes his eyes, swinging the bottle above his shoulder. Tightens his grip.

  
  


Crash. Crash. Crash.

  
  


Chester's screaming but Brad, he can't open his eyes. The glass cuts into his hand but he still thrashing it down against the sticky skull. Over and over and over again because Chester, he was crying and begging for this to stop and Chester, he doesn't need this in his life. He should have never have bought him here. He has to stop him, he has to stop Rob.

  
  


"Oh my God. Oh my God."

  
  


Hands clamp onto Brad's shoulders, pull him away, cover his eyes as they flutter open.

  
  


"Oh my God. Oh my..."

  
  


Mike rocks him back and forth as Rob's voice echoes in Brad's ear. Brad can't hear Chester screaming anymore.

  
  


"Mike..."

  
  


Rob's voice again.

  
  


Brad pulls away from Mike, slowly turning, pushing Mike's hands away as they try and drag him back.

  
  


Chester's not breathing and Rob's standing on the other side of the room, cowering against the wall.

  
  


Chester's not breathing and there's green glass all over his face. Green glass turning red from the blood that's trickling down his cheeks.

  
  


Brad falls to the floor.

  
  
  


+

  
  
  


Five years seems harsh. But the lawyer Brad's mom hires says they can appeal. It was, after all, a terrible accident. But Chester's family, they don't see it that way and neither does the jury who believe the vile stories circulated about Brad being some junkie murderer. Involuntary manslaughter they call it. Obstruction of justice. Because Brad, he let Rob talk him into hiding the body, burying it in the undergrowth on an old building site and letting the police think that Chester had just gone missing. Until they found the body. Until they found Brad’s fingerprints and blood all over it.

  
  


"You killed an innocent teenager, you ended somebody else's flourishing life. This sentence is hope for you, hope that you can reflect on your actions."

  
  


Brad stares at the bars and the cold, stone walls. Whoever said juvenile detention was a walk in the park, well, they don't know shit. Brad gulps and tries not to cry. But it's kind of hard not to cry when you never got to say goodbye or sorry or I love you to your best friend.

  
  


+

  
  


**3\. The Beginning.**

  
  


Everything's changed. That's what Brad thinks as he slowly walks down the street. The stores are different, the owners older, wiser. A kid jogs past him, chasing a balloon. An old lady gets out of a red pick up and enters the grocery store. Brad wonders what they've been doing for the past five years. Wonders if they know who he is and what he did and how he had to pay. Being inside, it makes you reflect more than you imagine possible.

  
  


Mike starts to walk toward Brad. He looks taller, thinner, more defined. Even if Brad's seen him every week for the past five years, because Mike, unlike his mom, he didn't give up on him and turn away. But he still looks different. Maybe it's because this is outside, not some cramped up prison visitors room with a plastic screen dividing you and a phone line to talk down.

  
  


Brad didn't sleep last night. Just thought about Mike and hanging on and the future and how to stop his heart from fluttering.

  
  


"Hey."

  
  


"Hi."

  
  


"C'mere."

  
  


Brad welcomes Mike's embrace. The way his arms are stronger, his hands are firmer and gentle at the same time. He shivers and closes his eyes.

  
  


Brad thought that five years of thinking non stop about it all would give him some clarity but as Mike pulls away and takes the black sack from his hand, the one that contains his worldly possessions, Brad still doesn't know.

  
  


Mike's breath hits his ear and for a moment this is them meeting for the first time, in the supermarket aisle with the lemons and the oranges and the noodles with the foul tasting sachet of sauce.

  
  


If he could go back to that day, would he?

  
  


Mike squeezes his hand, brushes his lips against his forehead. Brad thinks, as he falls into step with Mike and their arms swing together between their bodies, that it's a question he'll probably never be able to answer.

  
  
  


**FIN.**


End file.
